


Case 145: The Adventure Of The Fiery Blaze (1897)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [185]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Family, Fortune Cookies, Gay Sex, Harnesses, Jealousy, Johnlock - Freeform, London, M/M, Physical Abuse, Servants, Trains, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 21:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17495405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ A fortune cookie is such a trifling little thing – but this one has a warning that comes true all too quickly and brings someone back into the duo's life who John does not like one little bit!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Centaurlips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Centaurlips/gifts).



_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

The capital was just about to embark on the celebrations to mark Her Majesty's sixty years on the throne when this next case came upon us both. It was a strange little affair which started with an evening out, went on to feature one of John's least favourite people on this planet and ended with a divorce in my own family, albeit one that had been 'on the cards' as they say for some onsiderable time. But I am getting ahead of myself.

John has just made a quite predictable remark about 'getting head'. He really is getting quite dreadful these days. Excuse me while I 'see' to him.

֍

We had gone out for a celebratory dinner after an article in the _'Times'_ which had revealed that John's literary efforts had acquired yet another reader, to wit a certain lady who lived at the end of The Mall. Such royal patronage would surely boost the already high sales of his works even more, and I was happy both that he had achieved success and that he was financially set for life, though of course we both knew that if he had had any problems in that area then I would have stepped in immediately.

We chose a highly-recommended Chinese restaurant for our evening out and the meal was both pleasant and filling. Indeed when the fortune cookies arrived at the end I suggested with a sly smile that maybe John was so full he might not be able to manage his.

“I could manage this and a slice of pie!” he said opening his cookie.

“That is good”, I said, “because I sent out for one before we left. It should have been delivered in our absence.”

He gave me a look of such loving devotion that I was sorely tempted to do something that would have gotten us barred from this place and most certainly on the front pages of the _'Times'_ for some days thereafter. Instead I opened my own cookie and was about to read it when I noticed how quiet John had gone.

“What is it?” I asked.

“'Something sweet awaits you at home'”, he said, clearly surprised.

“That is not completely true”, I smiled. “I am still here.”

He chuckled at me as I read my own destiny.

“'Go fish!'”

We both stared at each other. What on earth...?

֍

As the Fates would have it I was gentle with John that evening as I knew he had a rare call to make the following day. Although he had ceased full-time work at his surgery he still catered for some of the place's richer clientele whom he had always attended and who did not like change. I privately thought this being far more generous that the surgery deserved; they may have shown some flexibility in the past before he and I became more well-known but they had benefited richly as a result.

Of course when I said all this to John one time he just sniggered at the word 'flexibility'. He really as I said quite dreadful. Fortunately!

Our landlady Mrs. Singer knew quite well not to disturb us before a decent hour of a morning, if only because her maids might need to start receiving therapy as a result and not as 'someone' occasionally snarked that I was not exactly a morning person'. So when the bell rang to announce a visitor and a card was pushed under our door at the ungodly hour of five minutes past eight, I was both surprised and alarmed. That had only happened two times before; once with then-Sergeant Henriksen for what actually had been an emergency, and once (almost inevitably) with Bacchus for what had not and had resulted in his being slapped so hard on the landing that Miss Harvelle had heard it from her room on the ground floor (her mother had unfortunately been away at the time otherwise my brother would also have had a backside full of grapeshot to worry about). What was it this time?

John picked up the card and read it. His face darkened at once. Lord, it _was_ Bacchus!

“My brother?” I asked. 

To my surprise he shook his head.

“Worse!” he growled. “You had better get dressed.”

He passed the card to me and I read the name on it. 

Go fish. _Of course!_

֍

I rang the bell back and some fifteen minutes later Miss Harvelle showed our visitor up to our rooms. She would not have had to have been any sort of detective to have worked out very quickly that something was amiss. I was in my usual chair but John was standing right behind me, his hand on my shoulder with his ring prominently displayed and glaring murderously at our visitor. There may or may not also have been some coughing that an uncharitable landlady's daughter might have maliciously misinterpreted as defensive growling.

I was surprised that she made it out of the door with a smirk that wide!

Our guest bowed and took a seat. Nearly two decades since we had first met and he still looked like he was barely out his teen years, although I supposed that in his profession that was understandable. Mr. Laurence Trevelyan, formerly Lowen the Scilly Islands fisherman who had ferried us to Annet in the horrible Repellent Philanthropist case back in 'Seventy-Nine and who had also warned us of the vile Mathews out to take my life in those dark days before Professor Moriarty had been despatched to his rightful place in Hell. The young fellow had a penchant for danger and had 'chanced to call round' several times when John was not there, most times with suggestions as to certain things we might like to try. Which reminded me; I owed him thanks for that leather harness idea.

Assuming that John did not kill him first!

“Possessive as ever, Doctor Watson”, the young fellow smiled. “Rather ironic when one considers that you have seen so much more of me than I have ever seen of your friend here.”

John blushed at that. Although my half-brother Campbell was well into his retirement with Mr. Buxted (and well into Mr. Buxted from his last letter; I had terrible relatives!), the love of my life still treated all the 'boys' at what was now Mr. Godfreyson's molly-houses free of charge, the Ado... the fellow before us included. Not happily in Lowen's case; there had definitely been some defensive growling the last time he had returned to Baker Street and found the fellow there needing a check-up, although fortunately he had not managed to link that visit with my introduction of a certain piece of military equipment into our encounters a few night later.

I really wished that our visitor would stop smiling like that. It was only making matters worse. Then again a riled John was always that much more aggressive... I supposed that yes, there _were_ compensations.

“I am seeking Mr. Holmes' help in a family matter”, our visitor said sitting himself down elegantly in the fireside chair. I noted that John had still not moved to his usual table to take notes and patted his hand. He spared Lowen one last baleful look before moving away but I could sense his unease.

“How may we be of assistance?” I asked, not smirking at all. 

“I have an elder brother who came to London some years before me, by name of Blaze”, Lowen said. He noted our surprise and smiled. “A Cornish name like my old one; there is a town called St. Blazey in our fair county. We rarely see each other – he was initially not happy with what one might call my choice of lifestyle but he came to accept it – and yesterday should have been our first meeting for a little over two years. He entered service when he came here and recently obtained a position as valet to a gentleman out in Pinner, Middlesex.”

“You believe that something has happened to him?” I asked.

“That he did not turn up for our meeting was, I am afraid, too much like him”, our visitor sighed. “He is something of a bean-pole, rather like Philip at the house in being a little over six foot six tall yet with nothing to him. But he is a decent fellow and I worry about him.”

I knew from what Lowen had told me one time that he had rather more than a crush on Mr. Philip Henry at the molly-house, the fellow being a handsome fellow of Spanish extraction who looked every inch the conquistador that he portrayed to some of his clients. Unfortunately the fellow was married and despite his job the Cornishman was a deeply moral fellow. Still, one never knew.

“Our late and un-lamented father used to scoff that my brother had his head in the clouds in every sense”, Lowen sighed. “That was cruel but arguable. And yet....”

He stopped, frowning.

“Blaze is terrible at expressing himself, although you will be hard put to find a more decent fellow out of Cornubia. He sent me a telegram a few months ago and I had the distinct impression reading between the lines that his new post was not working out well. He has only had two posts; I happen to know the first gentleman as he owns a gymnasium over in Harrow that I have used myself on occasion – I believe that he still allows Blaze to go there for free, such was his regard for him - but I do not know his current employer by name.”

“Why do you not just go and see him yourself?” John asked suspiciously.

Our visitor looked at him knowingly again (which I knew would annoy him) and smiled beatifically (which I knew would annoy him yet more). I really had to start having him over more often.

“The hair colour apart Blaze may _look_ like Philip”, he said, “and anyone who met them briefly might indeed consider them the more likely kin than he and I. Both are much more learnéd than their professions warrant; it is a struggle getting our man out of the library at times! But there is one key difference. Blaze lives up to his name in that he has a terrible temper of which even I, who have to deal with more than my share of physical gentlemen, am truly afraid.”

He saw my surprise and nodded.

“The year before he died, our father came up to London to seek Blaze out and to try to force him to return home”, he said. “Father always was the violent sort, but even he should have known better than to provoke his elder son. He was three weeks in hospital before he was well enough to be let out; I do not think he ever fully recovered as he died less than six months later. Few things scare me in this world of ours but my brother's temper is not something that I would like to risk incurring.”

“So you would rather he hit Sherlock instead?” John asked sharply. Lowen shot him another smile.

“Blaze is a great follower of your writings, doctor, and his temper takes a lot of provoking. He would never lay a finger on Mr. Holmes. Not that there are some people in this city of ours who would wish to lay rather more than just a finger.”

I smiled at the _innuendo_. John looked suspiciously at our visitor. There was definitely something that sounded like another grow... cough.

“The only thing that I may know about Blaze's employer is that he himself may be a fan of your writings”, Lowen said. “Something he said after he stared there made me think that, although again I may have misunderstood. Blaze is a hard man to read.”

“Families can be difficult things”, I sympathized, thinking that I was securing an entry for Understatement of the Decade there. “Yes, Lowen, we will go to Pinner for you and seek out your brother so that we can put your mind at rest.”

He somehow contrived to both smile and leer at me at one and the same time. And that was most definitely a growl from someone in the vicinity.

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

֍

But we will not be going today, I thought hazily as John thrust into me once more. I had seen our guest out and flipped across the ingenious little red slider we had had fitted to the door some time back and which alerted the maids to not even knock as the gentlemen inside were 'busy'. And then, being perhaps less than one hundred per cent nice, I had returned and made several comments about how well our newest client was looking until I had seen John's eyes go dark.

We could go to Middlesex tomorrow. Assuming that I could still walk by then!

I grabbed tightly onto the man holding me as he came with a guttural cry, then eased me down onto our bed. Even with his larger frame it had to be tiring carrying me around our main room while having his way with me, but I knew how insecure he could be in the presence of other men and that the best way to remedy that was to let him have his way with me. Repeatedly.

“Mine!” he snarled and he easily turned me onto my front and lay himself all over me, covering me completely. “Only mine!”

“Definitely yours”, I agreed as I felt his tired body all over mine. “Rest now.”

“Rest”, he yawned in agreement.

“But I still think that he is quite good-looking....”

“Sherlock!”

I smirked. Another day _definitely_ not wasted!

֍


	2. Chapter 2

I had by this time had my own leather harness made (at a shop some distance across town!) and John almost cried when I asked him to fit it to me the following morning. The studs that bound it together had his name on them and I promised him that I would not be taking it off until that evening when he would get to 'unwrap' me. It was worth being kept in a permanent state of semi-arousal all day (those straps went _everywhere!_ ) to see the look of happiness on his face. I would do whatever it took to keep that look there.

We took an underground train to Pinner which fortuitously was on the Metropolitan Railway which ran through Baker Street. We passed Harrow and I smiled at the memory of Mrs. Arlesburgh whom we had helped some nine years back in the case of the Crooked Man that had secured our friend Henriksen his long-deserved promotion. Miss Gladys Arlesburgh née Branson, the young girl over whom our help had been sought back then, was now thirteen years of age and doing very well at a school in this town from her last letter to me.

London seemed as uninspiring as ever and although Pinner was still a village there were ominous signs that the advancing tide of the metropolis was already beginning to wash over it. Chapel Street, which was the only clue that Lowen had been able to provide to his brother's workplace, was quite close to the station, a long and winding thoroughfare with houses along its northern side and bordered to the south by a small but attractive parkland. I noted that while most of the houses were what one might have expected with copious grounds and screened off from the road, there was a small development by the station where one house had clearly been removed and replaced by a run of rather mean terraces. Progress, I supposed.

We asked at three of the larger houses if anyone knew of Mr. Blaze Trevelyan, The first two houses yielded nothing but the third door was opened to us by a worried-looking maid who bade us enter. Just moments later she returned to say that the lady of the house, a Mrs. Slapper (honestly!) would see us.

Mrs. Theresa Slapper was one of those pampered wives of rich men whose room was in its way a microcosm of her class. It had everything; a scrawny nervous-looking companion (Miss Gibson), a small furry glove-thing masquerading as a dog, expensive and ill-matched furniture, and a temperature that would have had Bedouin merchants pleading for the heat to be turned down. I was panting by the time we reached the couch where I had to cope with the woman leering at me in a way that I presumed meant she was either suffering an attack of wind or trying to deal with a rogue eyelash.

John was growling again just as the leather was riding up somewhere rather intimate. My life was so hard, and it was not the only thing!

“Of course I know nothing about servants!” she said sniffily when I explained our search. “Although as you are here now, you might have a word with those terrible neighbours of mine. Ever since they moved in there has been nothing but arguing, day and night. And this past weekend there was actually what sounded like _gunfire_ coming from the house!”

“You did not report this to the authorities?” I asked.

“I have always said that what goes on in a gentleman's house is his own business unless it affects their neighbours”, she said firmly. “My husband agrees with me on that.”

Like he has a choice, I thought. This would require careful handling.

“Do you use your own grounds much, may I ask?” I said.

She looked surprised but answered.

“Only the back garden”, she said. “Why do you ask?”

“Is there any connection between yours and the neighbour's house?” I said.

“There is a gate in the wall, but of course it is locked”, she said. “Mr. Holmes, what is all this about?”

I took a deep breath.

“It may be the case that someone has come from that house into your garden”, I said. “My inquiries are of course confidential, but I can say that they involve a rather dangerous young fellow and he has done this sort of thing before. May I ask a favour?”

“Yes?” she said, now visibly anxious. 

“Could your companion come out and show me where the gateway is?” I asked. “There may be an element of danger and I would of course not wish to subject your good self to such a thing.”

“Of course not!” she said fervently. “Mabel, go with the gentleman _at once!”_

֍

Miss Gibson showed us the gateway and looked at me knowingly.

“I think, Mr. Holmes”, she said, “that what you said to my mistress was, as my dear Albert would say, utter codswallop!”

“Your dear Albert would be quite correct”, I said. “But although I am not always truthful, madam, I _am_ observant. When I mentioned Mr. Trevelyan by name, _you_ reacted visibly, although you covered it well. What do you know, please?”

She blushed but answered.

“You are not going to like it”, she said nervously.

“Not like what?” John asked.

“I met Mr. Trevelyan one time down at the library, when I was returning the mistress' books for her”, she said. “Such a learnéd gentleman and so handsome; dear Albert was with me at the time and he was quite jealous. You know how some men are.”

John had gone red for some reason. I allowed myself a small(ish) smirk.

“I understand human nature”, I said. “Go on.”

“He – Mr. Trevelyan – took up his post when his people moved here last year”, she said. “The Cohens. They seemed no better or worse than others around here but Mr. Trevelyan said they were always arguing. And he was not sure but he thought that they were using false names.”

“Why would they do that?” John asked.

“I have no idea”, she said. “Except...”

She stopped, looking decidedly unsure of herself, then made a visible effort to pull herself together.

“A few weeks ago we had a letter addressed to their house which came to us in error”, she said. “I chanced to see it before it was taken round and the name on it – was 'Mr. Holmes'!”

We both stared at her in astonishment.

֍

I had thought that life had few surprises left for me at this time, but that day most certainly caught me out when we knocked at 'Chimneys' where, hopefully, Mr. Blaze Trevelyan worked. It was definitely not him who opened the door although as our quarry was a valet that was hardly surprising.

What was surprising was that I did recognize the fellow standing before me, bleeding from what looked suspiciously like a bullet graze on one arm. My unpleasant eldest brother Mycroft!

֍

Mycroft looked as shocked to see us as I was to see him but he recovered quickly and ushered us inside.

“I suppose that you are as good as anyone!” he said rudely. “You have to stop him!”

I noted that John had covertly got his own gun ready in his jacket pocket. I really should have told him not to. Probably really. I might get round to it some time.

“Stop whom?” I said.

“That bloody Cornishman!” he hissed. “He has Rachael trapped in the back room and he refuses to let her go.”

I stared suspiciously at him. Mycroft had as I knew from experience long had a way of twisting the facts to suit his own ends, and unless the valet had gone mad I saw no reason for such actions.

“Why would he do that?” I asked.

“Yes, 'Father'. Why _would_ he do that?”

We all turned sharply to see a boy standing at the door, and I sent up a silent complaint to the Lord. _Seriously?_ Master Tantalus Holmes, nearly thirteen years of age now and how even someone as stupid as my brother could not see that the boy was not his by this time, I did not know.

To recapitulate, my 'nephew' was all but certainly the offspring of the satyric Prince Tane of Strafford Island, who since his 'memorable' trip to England had become King Tane. His official title was 'Father of All Peoples' which, given the way that he had humped his way around the beds, back-rooms and couches of London society during his brief visit some fourteen years back – the trip when a certain medical acquaintance of mine had been _supposed_ to have been keeping an eye on him - was all too appropriate. And yes, the mathematics there plus his hawkish features and darker than usual skin should have twigged even Mycroft to.....

Oh.

For all that the boy before us was not yet a teenager his presence dominated the room. Mycroft shrank back before him as bullies always will when faced with someone who stands up to them. My (sort of) nephew turned to face me.

“It took him long enough but your brother finally got it”, he said acidly. “A maid from back then retired and she told him the story of my conception. Hardly immaculate, but then few things are in this world.”

“You bastard!” Mycroft hissed.

“Let me see”, Tantalus said. “Am I the person who verbally and more recently physically abused the lady currently crying upstairs? No. Am I the person who conspired with one brother in an attack on another that nearly scarred him for life, then fled here under a false name to hide from _his_ own mother? No.”

“What?” John roared. “He knew?”

Mycroft looked set to bolt. I would have too, facing that look. Tantalus continued.

“And now you finally came up against someone who can stand up to you, which I suppose proves that karma is a thing. Be grateful, my so-called father, that he did do that, otherwise I myself would have had to do it!”

“Do what?” John asked still glaring at Mycroft. I was sure I would be able to stop him getting his gun out and shooting my brother. Fairly sure. 

“He struck Mother in front of Blaze”, Tantalus said, scowling at the cowering wreck of a man. “Blaze by nature as well as by name; he knocked him out then picked him up and threw him out of the room. And when he came to and tried to get back in he shot at him. Missed, worse luck.”

Mycroft glared at him but said nothing. He was still clearly terrified that John would set about him.

“Mother will be seeking a divorce”, Tantalus said coolly. “And the only thing you were right about, my so-called father, is that Blaze _does_ have feelings for her. But unlike you he is far too much of a gentleman to have every acted on them with a married lady.”

“I shall contest any such move!” Mycroft said angrily.

“I doubt that”, I smiled. He turned on me.

“Why?” he demanded.

“Because if you do”, I said, “our own dear mother will not be pleased. And after Ranulph, she has said that she will be after the next son to step out of line with her new pistol – the one with the grape-shot option included!”

Mycroft went pale. 

“We shall go and check up on your shortly to be ex-wife”, I said. “I strongly recommend that you retire to one of your clubs. You are no longer welcome here.”

I did not fail to notice how the man I was unfortunate enough to know as a brother skulked around the room keeping as far away from John as possible before he fled. His time would come.

֍

The shocks of that day were not quite done with. We had another one when we reached the room where my sister-in-law and the valet were 'holed up'. Tantalus knocked at a solid-looking door and called through that it was him, then opened it and stepped into the room with us behind him and what the hell was _that?_

“It is only me, Blaze”, Tantalus said softly. “I have a doctor here, to see Mother.”

Lowen had been right about his brother's height, but the long time between their meetings had rendered part of his description slightly obsolete. Mr. Blaze Trevelyan looked as if he has spent the last year working out at his gymnasium for at least six days a week, arguably seven. I did not smile as John moved swiftly behind me and managed what he later said had been a high-pitched cough, but it was a close-run thing. 

The mass of human muscle looked uncertainly at us (part of me wondered if it had been fed recently!) but Tantalus went up to the two of them, kissed his mother and patted the valet on a very broad shoulder.

“He is a fellow of few words”, the boy said comfortingly, “but he is loyal and true, and everything that my so-called father is not. Doctor?”

John moved warily across the room and began to check poor Rachael. Mr. Blaze Trevelyan was visibly unhappy at that but Tantalus kept his hand on the giant's shoulder and all was well. I would not be teasing John about that later.

Really, I would not. Otherwise he might not let me out of this damn harness, and those leather straps were starting to ride up!

֍

_Postscriptum: Almost predictably Mycroft scurried off to Mother's house so he could put his side of the story first. She listened patiently until he was done and then slapped him so hard that he was barely able to stagger from the room. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology my telegram_ had _got there first._

_Rachael got her divorce from Mycroft and custody of all the children except young Midas, which given that child's horrible nature was arguably a bonus. Mycroft and his sole actual son moved to a new house out in the Home Counties somewhere and we thereafter saw little of either of them, which was even better. He then had to move three more times because 'someone' kept informing Mother of his latest address, which was so not sad. And my now former sister-in-law eventually prevailed upon Mr. Blaze Trevelyan to marry her so that Tantalus acquired a most excellent if silent step-father. Especially in that I could now tell John that he and his favourite Cornish ex-fisherman were all but related._

_The resultant pout was_ glorious!

֍


End file.
